


A Dream in the Dead of Winter

by Hambone



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Lies, M/M, Parties, Secret Identity, Semi-Public Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, discomfort, socialite au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 18:37:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4110991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hambone/pseuds/Hambone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blurr had gotten used to all the parties, all the social requirements. He had begun to find life in them. Then, the one who bestowed that life upon him chose to take it back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dream in the Dead of Winter

**Author's Note:**

> Commission for comradewodka on my tumblr! Thank you very much! Enjoy~!

_The Passing of Relations Pact 65 Remembrance Day, 3943, 19:56_

“It is only a party, dearest.”

Shockwave’s claws slipped around his shoulders, cold and hard, and Blurr felt the line of pearls slowly tighten around his throat and then relax as the clasp was done properly.

“I don’t want to go anyways,” said Blurr, voice sharp but tired, “I don’t want to go and I shouldn’t have to if I don’t want to.”

“Sweetness,” Shockwave sighed, melting over him as the crisp lines of his suit wrinkled against the back of the vanity chair, “I would normally let you do whatever you wished, you know that, but this is an event you cannot miss. We have to make face.”

“Cannot miss, mustn’t miss,” Blurr mimed his words angrily, crossing his legs in the chair and anxiously rubbing them together. His left leg ached with an old memory.

“Blurr.”

“Shockwave,” he said, turning abruptly to face his lover, “please.”

Stroking a soft line down Blurr’s cheek, he almost sounded regretful when he said no.

* * *

 

_Stellar Cycle Completion’s Eve, 3923, 27:44_

Blurr did not dance, even if he wanted to. He knew how to play the game right, so he came to all the events, the balls and the social gatherings and the teas and brunches, but he never stood, towards the end of the night, when the wine was hitting many of them just right, when the music began to swell in the spark of every guest. He did not dance.

Blurr was a celebrated member of the athletic society, new money but well-loved for it anyways. There was a difference between socialites and celebrities, the way they came to power and how they held it. Blurr was an impeccable figure in both fields. He knew he was graceless outside the track and he stuck to his boundaries well. The dream of power never caught him too tightly.

It was at the annual Policeman’s Ball that he met Longarm. That wasn’t his real name, but no one seemed to know his actual designation and the nickname stuck. The Long Arm of the Law, as he was initially introduced, was small, rotund, and smiled with such genuine kindness that Blurr was struck silent for a moment, the cocktail in his hand trembling ever so slightly. Longarm seated himself next to Blurr without acknowledging his sudden stillness, the badge on his crest twinkling in the low light, and let out a large, contented sigh.

“I apologize for interrupting your moment alone,” he said, “I just need to catch my breath.”

“No, no no,” Blurr was quick to turn, passing his hands across the silk of his skirts, the low sweeping neckline of his dress suddenly making himself conscious, “I don’t mind at all, Sir, I just am not much of a dancer and I, well, I welcome your company for as long as you need it.”

_What an ungainly way of speaking_ , Longarm must have thought, _how wild,_ but he said nothing, simply leaned against the wall and shuttered his optics. Blurr caught himself straightening his dress again and took a long sip from his glass. He was not used to seeing new faces at these events, even charity balls. That must have been it, the nerves of newness, and the drink. That must have been why his spark was spinning so dizzily in his breast. He downed the drink.

“I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced,” Longarm was saying, extending his hand, and Blurr practically choked on his own oral solvent as he grasped it tightly between his own gloved fingers and sputtered out “Blurr! My designation, that is, it’s, it’s Blurr. And I know who you are, Longarm Sir. The party is in your name, as it were, after all, uhm,” he swallowed, “I’m sorry, I think I’ve… I’ve had a few drinks this evening.”

Longarm smiled at him, and his hand was so warm between Blurr’s own.

* * *

 

_The Passing of Relations Pact 65 Remembrance Day, 3943, 20:32_

Holding on to the guardrail with one hand, Blurr stared down the long flight of stairs at his feet. His shoes fit properly but hurt anyways, some new leather Shockwave had bought for him in the morning. They were beautiful and costly and Blurr hated them because they were specifically for the event of the night. Scowling down, he did not move.

“Darling?”

Shockwave’s voice floated up from the first floor, but Blurr decided to let him wait. Judging by the echo and the muffled quality of it, Shockwave was in the library anyways. That bought him at least a klik of extra time to stare with hatred at his own feet.

“Blurr, dearest?”

The voice was moving, closer, but not there yet. Blurr shifted slightly and instinctually gripped the railing tighter. Cursing under his breath, he remained silent.

“Blurr.”

Red light filtered up the stairs and his time was up.

“Shockwave.”

He gave no ground anyways.

“Are you coming? It’s time.”

“I know,” snapped Blurr, then winced in regret for it. He lifted a foot, wavered, and set it back down again.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice soft and partially eaten by the carpet between them, “I don’t mean to argue so much, Shockwave, you know that, I just don’t want to go.”

“I know,” said Shockwave, ascending the stairs, “I know.”

* * *

 

_Mid-Winter, 3924, 06:01_

Blurr rose and fell atop Longarm’s lap, the silk of his nightgown hiked up just enough to flash tantalizing views of his valve on every bounce, spread wide and wet. Longarm traced his thighs, letting him do the work, face serene and adoring. Blurr loved the way he looked like this, cushioned against the pillows, his optics unfocused and almost blank with pleasure and contentment. Violet light poured in through the curtains and fractured against the net that webbed its way over his bed, surreal and beautiful, and it made his spark feel as though it would beat right through his chest.

 “Darling,” Longarm hummed, shifting his shoulders, “slow down.”

“I-I-I-I can’t! I mean I can but I don’t want to I-!” he broke off with a squeal as Longarm grabbed his hips and thrust upwards sharply, tossing him into the air on his spike. Blurr laughed as he came down, laughed and moaned and gripped at Longarm’s bare chest as he rode him harder.

“Stubborn,” Longarm pulled one of Blurr’s hands away from himself to kiss the knuckles and fingers and the seat of his palm, “always such a princess.”

Blurr laughed again, grinding back on him. His ventilations hitched as overload suddenly crested inside him, his valve pulsing hard. He threw his head back and yelled, loud, and Longarm almost jumped again, spike throbbing. He hooked his fingers in deep, twisting Blurr’s garter belt, and thrust upwards earnestly as Blurr continued to howl, riding one overload into another. His back arched in a sharp angle, pushing out his chest and making the knot of pearls at his throat gleam.

“Sir-sir- _sirIloveyou-oh!-_ Sir I lo-love-ah!”

Longarm’s movements jerked out of sync and when Blurr recovered enough to see he was cumming but he wouldn’t meet Blurr’s gaze. The flood of hot transfluid inside him was almost enough to distract him from it but then he was sloping forwards, arms outstretched to find Longarm’s embrace and it wasn’t there. He curled onto his lover’s wide chest and tried to reorganize his processor, heaving.

“Longarm?”

He did not say anything, helm turned to the side. Blurr could vaguely see the line of dents around his lip where it had been bitten.

“Longarm, Sir,” he crawled forward, kissing his cheek as aftershocks nipped his calipers, “I do love you, you know, I mean it every time I say it.”

He wasn’t sure how else to approach the subject. Longarm had always been subdued in his responses to Blurr’s declarations of affection but he had never seemed so reserved, even at his shyest.

“Baby?”

Longarm looked at him then, really looked at him. For a moment, his eyes were almost dead. Then he smiled.

“Oh, darling. I know.”

* * *

 

_The Passing of Relations Pact 65 Remembrance Day, 3943, 20:52_

Shockwave reached for Blurr’s hand but couldn’t find it in the pile of furs wrapped around his body. Eyes out the window, Blurr shuffled inside his cocoon, but Shockwave wouldn’t tell if it was an attempt to move closer or escape.

“Sweetspark,” he said, patting where he assumed Blurr’s thigh was, “sweetspark, you’ll be fine.”

Blurr huddled down into his clothing and watched the darkening world pass outside.

“I know.”

“I love you.”

“I know.”

The sun had set a while ago but the vermillion rays of its passing still lingered, painting the countryside blood red. The road was dirt only but it had been smoothed, recently, by the passing of many wheels and Shockwave shot around corners so fast they swayed from side to side in the cabin. Blurr liked the speed and knew that Shockwave knew that and was likely trying to make up for earlier. Somehow, though, it stung to feel the wind against his face when it wasn’t his own foot on the pedal. He crossed those gaudy heels under the cover of his coat.

“You won’t,” he reset his vocalizer, “you won’t make me take part in the socializing, will you?  My leg hurts especially today and, and you won’t make me talk to those bots.”

Shockwave moved his hand back to the wheel.

“Blurr,” he said, “you’re mine. You always have been. I know that sometimes I am pulled away from you and,” Blurr’s white fingers shot out from the folds of fur, gloves hanging off his wrists, and he gripped Shockwave’s shoulder with both hands.

“Shockwave! Shockwave you promised me you wouldn’t leave me alone with them again!”

“And I won’t.”

He tried to let his voice allow no room for argument, but Blurr’s fingers still tightened. A lesser mech might have considered swerving the wheel just to frighten him off. Shockwave was proud enough to only recognize the possibility.

“Blurr,” he said, optic steady on the road “I won’t.”

Before them, the house was beginning to peak the crest of trees on the horizon, windows alight in the dark like the eyes of wild beasts. Blurr looked ahead and saw it too, and he moved away. He left a lingering arm on Shockwave’s though, and his legs crossed and recrossed beneath his gown.

* * *

 

_Day After the Triennial Track and Wheel Championships, 3926, 17:10_

Linked arm in arm, they entered the ball room. Optics turned to meet theirs, only briefly, before turning back to the dance, and it made Blurr giddy. The light and sound thrummed in every one of his circuits and he turned to Longarm with a bright smile.

“Let’s dance!”

“Really?”

Longarm pursed his lips coyly but the question was genuine.

“Yes!” Blurr grasped one of his hands in both of his own, tugging Longarm across the tile. He looked beautiful in the glittering low light of the chandelier above, the pearls around his throat swaying down into the low cut of his dress, black velvet, all so glossy and crystal. Mesmerized by passion, Longarm followed him.

“You hate dancing, darling.”

Blurr laughed and pulled himself into Longarm’s embrace, pressing his nasal ridge along the cool plating of his cheek.

“Tonight, I’m a winner, and tonight I don’t hate dancing.”

He kissed the corner of Longarm’s mouth, just a soft peck, optics fluttering open and closed.

“Tonight, I just want to have fun. Isn’t that why we came here? Fun?”

He was teasing a bit, but Longarm’s voice wavered as he straightened himself out, hands coming to rest on Blurr’s slim hips as the music swayed them.

“Yes, of course. Fun.”

“You make it sound so painful,” said Blurr, grinning, and then he broke off into a squealing laugh as Longarm unexpectedly twirled him into a dip. Foreheads touching, they closed their optics in time.

“Now, now,” Longarm feigned injury, “I do my best.”

They spun around and found themselves upright again, Blurr’s lanky legs twisting all over one another as they moved across the floor. He was not graceful at all and stares were accumulating as the champion let himself be dragged around by the cop, but there was never a time when he could have cared less than now. Drunk on happiness, Blurr only felt the warm arms around him, only heard the soft banter in his audio receptor, and only cared for the easy way that every time he tripped over his own two stabilizing servos Longarm would catch him steady.

He danced himself dizzy, and Longarm led him to a chair and tried to keep him from swiping a drink off a butler moving through the crowd (and failed). Opening his vents and exhaling a little steam, Blurr laughed loudly.

“People are going to think you’ve overcharged yourself,” said Longarm, not at all caring if they did or not.

“Darling, darling” Blurr said, leaning forward to bury his face in Longarm’s lapels.

He didn’t have much time to enjoy the sensation, because the next klik Longarm was pulling away abruptly, standing and looking across the room. His optics seemed dull, but his frown was not.

“Darling?”

Still too humored to care, Blurr’s vocalizer clicked a bit, dry, and as he followed Longarm’s line of sight he took a drink of the wine he’d snagged.

“Ah, nothing, sweetness,” Longarm patted his shoulder, “I merely see a familiar face.”

He was squinting off across the room but Blurr could not tell at whom. The crowd was vast and colorful and he was still a little dizzy. No one seemed to be returning the look.

“Ignore them,” he said, tugging Longarm’s sleeve. Longarm was wearing a small flower in his button hole, teal blue like Blurr’s optics. It had been crushed earlier when they had been pulling one another closer and closer on the floor. He reached for it when Longarm would not move, trying to fan the petals back open, “we’re having fun.”

“I know,” said Longarm, distracted, “but it would be rude to not say hello.”

He took a step away and Blurr’s still fumbling with his jacket, pulled the flower free by mistake.

“I’ll just be a klik.”

“Longarm,” Blurr tried to stand behind him and got caught on his skirts, laughing nervously because he didn’t know what else to fill the space with, “Longarm, wait, what is going on?”

He was faster than his lover but the moment Longarm’s grey suit slid into the crowd he was one with the sea of fabrics. Diving in after him, Blurr was swept around by the current of dancers, bobbing up and down to see better. A mech in white, their host, Mirage, took him hand and kissed it.

“That was a wonderful performance today.”

“Oh, I, thank you but I,” he couldn’t raise his voice, couldn’t afford the attention, “I’m so flattered but really all I do is my best.”

Optics flickering in a way that was terminally torn between boredom and flirting, Mirage nodded slowly, rolling his next words over in his mouth. Blurr fidgeted and the straps on his dress loosened on his shoulders. Conversation was a means to an end, but the old money like Mirage played it for a sport. He hated that.

“Well, I am pleases to report that your best is more and enough.”

“Thank you,” said Blurr again, biting his tongue to keep from stammering as he slowed himself down beat by beat, scanning his peripheral vision for the gleam of Longarm’s red glass.

 “I should be thanking you,” Mirage purred, and Blurr realized he was being led into something, the dance floor blooming with emptiness as people began to form a circle. His free hand twitched and he realized he was still holding the flower from Longarm’s jacket. Pulling it to his breast, he shied away.

“I’m afraid I really can’t, um, right now, I’m actually looking for someone.”

Blurr bobbed up on his heels and tried to smile.

“Ah, yes, your policeman. Remind me when the wedding is, again?”

Mirage didn’t seem to be interested in letting go of his hand. Blurr considered simply slipping his gloves off and bolting.

“The solstice.”

The musician shifted on their podium.

“Oh, what a romantic time for a wedding! How lucky of you to have booked a service in such a popular climate.”

That was probably some kind of dig at his status as new energon in the books, but the crowd parted momentarily as people began to join hands and Blurr saw, clear as day, Longarm, across the room. He was raising his hands, shoulders stiff, and Blurr realized he was speaking to someone. A large mech, well dressed in silk, her helm held almost a good few feet above Longarm’s. They did not look happy.

“there he is, over there,” Blurr babbled a little too quickly, inadvertently jerking Mirage’s hand as he tried to gesture, “I really have to go, I’m very sorry, I just need to speak with him, you understand.”

Mirage frowned and nodded, even slower than before, as if he were underwater, and Blurr ground his dentae inside his cranial unit.

“I do hope to see you again soon,” he mimped, and then he bowed low to kiss Blurr’s hand again, “especially if your wonderful new bondmate isn’t quite the cut for you.”

Blurr jerked his hand away.

“I don’t think I appreciate your insinuation!” but Mirage had already detached himself and was floating away to another guest’s side.

Longarm was gone. Blurr’s spark leapt, because between his wine glass in the comfortable chair and Longarm’s disappearance he had become frightened, and now he was panicking, and Mirage had only made it worse because nothing was worse than being held back, forced to stop, nothing.

The hallway nearest to where he had last seen Longarm was empty, but he rushed down it anyways. His dress caught on a table and he nearly fell forward, a small sharp rip informing him even before he looked that the lace around the hem had come loose. Ignoring it, he pushed down the darker ends of the house until the sounds of the party were drowned out by his own cooling fans and-

“I didn’t authorize this.”

It took him a moment to register Longarm’s voice because it was so deep.

“I didn’t need it. Megatron himself gave me permission. Besides, I am only swatting a fly here. It doesn’t affect you and your little wife.”

She spat the last words. The big mech. Blurr was drawn to the doorway as if on wings. It was closed but not locked.

“it is irrelevant what my personal plans are,” said Longarm, tall and stretched, voice sounding bass and hollow inside his thick neck as he stood over the corpse on the floor as if it were garbage, “Blurr is hardly an object here, and I find it to have been poor planning on your part to,” he looked at the open door.

Blurr crushed the flower in his hand.

* * *

 

_The Passing of Relations Pact 65 Remembrance Day, 3943, 21:11_

Everyone looked up silently when they entered, but Shockwave was the center of their attention and Blurr was not. He felt relieved by it, clutching Shockwave’s sleeve to his chest as they navigated the crowd. Shockwave hardly spared anyone a passing glance, making his way to the head of the table and sitting just beside it.

There were little name plaques on the table by each plate, all typed out with a little flourish and garnished with flower. Ignoring that too, Shockwave began unrolling his napkin. Blurr tugged the chair adjacent to sit closer, hoping the nametag meant nothing and wincing as he put weight on his left leg, looking all around the room and yet meeting no one’s optics. Chatter slowly resumed. Folding his hands in his lap, Blurr pointedly looked away.

“Try to drink,” Shockwave spoke from overhead, “it might settle your stomachs.”

Blurr grimaced as Shockwave reached across the table, stretching out of his sleeve, and grabbed the high grade to pour them both a small cube. All the utensils were Decepticon sized and it took both hands for Blurr to lift his. Perhaps the amount was a shot for Shockwave, but he had to sip his own carefully or it would slosh out over his face, possibly the worst way to avoid attention.

“I’d rather not,” he muttered, grasping the cube in his arms and kicking his heels uselessly against the large chair, “I’m really, really not thirsty, Shockwave, thank you.” He felt like a doll in the huge seat and he didn’t like it, shrugging his shawl closer around his shoulders. The room was cold and dry and it made static bristle along the furs as his own spark beat increased. Shockwave tilted his helm in a way that seemed vaguely sad, but then turned his attention to the conversing couple of fliers across the table. Blurr curled up in his seat and ended up drinking anyways, just to occupy himself.

Things moved slowly. The lights were bright and glittered across every piece of muted baubbling worn across the room, and yet the corners still held heavy shadows. Blurr stared into one and wished he could be there. No one looked at him but he was still too exposed here, surrounded by the high court of criminals Shockwave was authority among.  

“Blurr.”

He looked up.

“Blurr, I believe that seat is taken.”

Shockwave gestured across the room where the pink mech was now entering, shrugging her coat off into her husband’s arms. There was no such thing as lateness among the elite, but Blurr had been hoping her seat would remain vacant.

“Well, what do you want me to do about it? There’s nowhere else to, I mean, I’m not sitting alone.”

Shockwave hummed so lowly that Blurr did not so much hear it as feel it, and patted his lap.

“I don’t…”

Blurr bit his lip and looked behind him as Strika approached, still caught up in some courtesy with one of the other guests. Shockwave nodded at him benevolently, and Blurr chose the lesser of two evils.

“It will be over soon, my love,” Shockwave repeated again, claws crawling over Blurr’s thighs as he took his seat, and Blurr shuttered his optics and decided to believe him.

* * *

 

_Day After the Triennial Track and Wheel Championships, 3926, 17:48_

“You lied to me!” Blurr screamed, running, “you lied to me, you lied, you lied, you monster you lied!”

Shockwave was not fast but he didn’t have to be. Step by step he followed, and every time Blurr turned he felt his fans stall. Too close.

“I did not mean to hurt you,” he said in Longarm’s gentle tone, “but there are things I knew you were not ready to understand.”

“Not ready!” Blurr tripped over the loose scrap of cloth in his skirt, grabbing an end table by the head of the pantry, “there is no-no-no-no-no such thing a-as ready for-!” the air left him entirely as the next step failed.

“Blurr, stop-!”

Shockwave actually yelled, stretching forward, but Blurr’s heel had already caught again and with a violent rip of fabric Blurr tumbled backwards down the stairs, arms outstretched as if to catch his own spark leaving his body.

* * *

 

_The Passing of Relations Pact 65 Remembrance Day, 3943, 21:21_

Spreading his legs wider, Blurr pushed his face into Shockwave’s lapel and bit back a budding moan. Claws dipped between his thighs and under his skirts, to where nothing covered him, and he shamed himself by moving back. No one looked at him. No one cared. Biting the linen of Shockwave’s shirt, Blurr told himself he was happy. The long scar on his leg throbbed.


End file.
